


Ashes Fall

by TheFountianPen



Series: Ashes Fall [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 21:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFountianPen/pseuds/TheFountianPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War was coming. It was as inevitable as changing of seasons. The flames of rebellion had been fanned, and would soon surge through the districts. Wild and untamed. A single red blossom told me it was time. Time to take my place among myth and legend. My name is Madge Undersee and I am the kindling that will ignite the girl on fire into a raging inferno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not Hunger Games it is without prejudice property of Suzanne Collins, Scholastic Press, Color Force, and Lionsgate. I own nothing but my own character creations, I merely borrowing a group of fascinating characters. I will return them relatively unscathed…well I return them anyway. No money is made from this and no infringement of copyright is intended. This will be removed if contacted. This story is not for monetary gain but purely for enjoyment purposes. I claim no ownership with exception to my own original characters and ideas. No recognizable characters are mine, merely my own creations.  
> Pairings: Katniss/Peeta, Madge/Gale (Eventual), Haymitch/Effie, OC/OC

 

 

 

 

Ashes Fall

Prologue:

 

The cold metal of my seat bit into my bare shoulders, the thick nylon belt tethering me in place refused to give an inch- and with each bout of turbulence- pressed me further into unyielding metal. The pinches of pain was a welcome relief however, as for a moment, it distracted me from the suffocating tension that permeated the hovercraft. Beside me-golden, wig askew and ashen faced- sat Effie Trinket. Buckled snuggly to her seat, her emotional stability dangled a hair. Her trembling hands working frantically as she buffed the hemline of her dress together trying to rid herself of the bright red reminder of the violence she had born witness too.

Releasing my grip on the thin rail that divided our seats, I reached over and as gently as I could pried her raw fingers from the material, and wriggled my fingers into her clenched palm. Giving her perfectly manicured hand a comforting squeeze, Effie’s tear reddened eyes finally tore away from the stains and flickered toward me.

“Oh Madge!” she gave a broken sob and buried her face in my shoulder, as her body began to shake with the force of her silent tears. I shushed her, my shoulder popping as I contorted my body to wind my free arm around her small shoulders rubbing a soothing hand over the lurid green sleeve of her dress. Her tears plastered my mussed hair to my neck uncomfortably- making my neck itch- but I didn’t have the heart to push the woman that had done so much for me and that I had willingly deceived, away when she needed me most.

I had known Effie since she had become the escort for District 12. At nine years old, I had been unimpressed by the woman who flounced into town once a year, to take two children away to their doom. At my young age, I hadn’t understood that Effie was merely a product of her environment, just as I was. She was no more responsible for the Hunger Games than I was and I had no grounds to hate her, but I hadn’t cared. Year after year, I watched as she hustled children gleefully onto the train bound for the Capital-never to return- and hated her for it. Time and experience soon changed my views, what had once been black and white was suddenly bathed in hues of gray. Effie Trinket was suddenly gray. And I slowly began to warm to the woman whom knew no better.

 

Despite my initial distaste for the bubbly woman, she had taken a liking to me right away. Bringing me small trinkets every year when she would arrive from the Capital and settle into the guest room (the one I had helped her arrange to her exacting specifications) opposite mine. On some subconscious level, Effie had understood I was not a fan of Capital opulence, so her gifts were mostly things she had picked up in another District on her long journey back to twelve: a set of silk hair ribbons from One, a small painted wooden figurine of a forest cat from Seven were among my favorites. It was then I started to notice Effie was a bit more perceptive than I had realized.

On the morning of my first reaping, Effie had pulled me aside and hugged me tightly and whispered “May the odds be ever in your favor, dear” in my ear. By then I knew that what she really meant was “I hope it’s not you.”

On my fifteenth birthday, Effie surprised me by sending me a gift with a Capital courier delivering documents to my father. That had been her most lavish gift by far, a small pair of glittering silver earrings in the shape of butterflies, once again from District One, their tiny wings inset by pink and green enamel, and a note offering her a job as her apprentice once I turned sixteen. Out of district, apprenticeships were very rare and to be offered one in the Capital even more so.

So sure, I would accept Effie had filled out all necessary paperwork and already arranged for me to take the graduation exam a year early. To be quite honest I had no desire to be a District escort, but it provided a golden opportunity that I could not afford to pass up. Access to the Capital.

For years, my mother and I had been awaiting the signal that would tell us _L'Ordre du Coquelicot_ was ready. Ready after years of discord, poverty, and torture to begin again the work our ancestors had begun centuries before- to topple oppressive government and bring freedom to the people of Panem.

 _L'Ordre du Coquelicot_ (was French- an extinct language still spoke by my familial line-for The Order of the Poppy, after the flower that then had been one of remembrance) was a secret society formed by a rogue secret government agency during what was called World War II. One that had survived the tidal wave that had leveled what had once been the Eastern seaboard, and the bitter war that had followed. Keeping to the shadows, they had watched as Panem was born. Always there, always watching.

Then came the Dark Days.

From the shadows, they stepped once more- though never once was the order mentioned to those outside the bloodline, so it remained, as it was intended secret- to fight on the side of the rebel forces. Woefully unprepared the surviving members retreated, preparing, waiting…waiting for a spark.

I had been barely nine when I had learned the existence of the Order. After swearing me to secrecy-to which I pointed out I was friendless, and just whom would I tell- my mother had taken me down into the basement of our home. Stowed beneath the rickety wooden steps that lead to the basement was an old trunk. Too look at it; it didn’t seem to be anything special just an old dusty trunk that had seen better days. But it was so much more.

Beneath the lid was just what one would expect, balled up linens and ancient moth eaten curtains, but when tossed aside was a worn bottom, but if pressed in precisely the right spot the bottom would fold away revealing a trapdoor with a small black window in the center. Pressing her thumb to the glass the screen flashed green and with a mechanical whir the door wild away revealing a worn oaken ladder.

Entranced I followed my mother down the rickety rungs until my feet touched stone. Undaunted by the darkness my mother picked her way easily across the room, to a small glowing key pad. Upon entering the code, a soft beep echoed through the room and the overhead lights flickered on and I was given my first look at what would become my sanctuary. A low swoosh and a loud click of a lock above my head startled me. Mother chuckled slightly and pointed up at a security door that slid into place above the entrance.

Red in the face, I turned my eyes around the secret bunker beneath my home, it was a small room with thick steel walls barely visible behind ancient wooden bookcases that lined three of the walls. Along the fourth was a large computer terminal. A large screen bolted to the wall and resting upon the large metal desk beneath it was a large humming box (that encased the complicated guts of the computer) , another smaller screen set into the metal and a small black keyboard rested atop it. Turning in circles I gaped at the new wonder around me. I grinned when I found a large arm chair of plush green velvet, a worn warm throw blanket folded over one arm, and a delicate glass floor lamp crammed into the small space between the desk and the first book shelf. Crammed on the shelves were priceless tomes in every possible color, with worn leather bindings and smelling heavily of must and aged paper and ink. Endless stories of freedom, adventure, and happiness that had been hoarded away by the _L'Ordre du Coquelicot_ in one of many of their heavily fortified underground bunkers. At that moment I craved nothing more than to select a book and curl up on the chair for hours.

Knowing me too well my mother laughed lightly and and tipped her head toward the case, as she set to work at the terminal. We spent hours down their that day as mother worked and I was swept away to a place called England and Northanger Abbey. Before we left,mother had me lay my hand on the desk screen as she punched a random keys -the screen glowed as a bright white line scanned my palm cataloguing my prints so I too could enter when I wished – and she showed me how one of the book cases popped out to reveal a tunnel that would lead to the woods beyond district 12. An emergency escape that could be sealed behind us, allowing us safe passage beyond the fence where the order could extract us to safety without detection.

Soon after we made a trip to the Capital to meet Auntie Inala the head of the Order. After that the rest is history.

Everyday after that I awaited the sign. Years went by and weapon were planned and created, improved armor invented, and hovercrafts acquired yet that ember that would ignite a rebellion was woefully missing.

Then Katniss Everdeen volunteered, for her sister and a spark was born. Standing in the crowd I knew as I watched Katniss mount the stage that this was the moment. My best friend was going to set the world on fire. When the crowds dispersed I ran for the Hall of Justice on trembling legs, plowing down the narrow corridors like a runaway bull-like I had once seen in 10- I nearly up ended three Peacekeepers and my fathers undersecretary before I reached the chambers that house the tributes. Taking my place in line behind Prim and Mrs. Everdeen. After a moment Darrius - the only peacekeeper I would call friend- opened the door and Prim flew in with a sob of “Katniss” her mother following behind. The door slammed closed behind them.

Bouncing nervously on my toes I fought with the catch of my pin, trying desperately to unlatch it,just as I was reaching the end of my patience and was going to simply tear from my dress the needle popped free. Gazing down at the golden pin in my palm my eyes misted, this was the best I could do. The Order had long recognized this pin, it had been crafted by my great-great-great grandfather at the end of the Dark Days as a symbol of hope. The Capital could not control the mockingjay and it could not control the Donner family. And they would not control Katniss Everdeen. I doubted Auntie Inala or the Council ( the law makers of the order) would be happy with me for what I was about to do, but I didn't care I would not lose my only friend. One day Katniss may hate me for this, but it would be worth it to bring her home to sweet little Prim. I startled when the door to my left opened, and Mr. Mellark pressed past the small line of people come to send his son off.

My stomach dropped, Peeta was a kind boy who would always slip a strawberry cupcake into my fathers bakery order simply because he knew it was my favorite. I even sat beside him in math and watched him draw elaborate scenes and portraits –usually of Katniss- in his notebook when he should be working on square roots, but having worked in the bakery making breads and cakes since he could reach the oven math and proportions came easily to him. The same could not be said of me, as I was usually to wrapped up in his neat lines and shadows to pay attention to Mrs. Buckford. One time he had caught me, flushed bright red in embarrassment, but stopped me after class and tore it from his notebook and given it to me. I still had it too, a beautiful sketch of the meadow near the Seam framed and sitting atop my piano. He was a sweet boy that harbored an obvious crush on the girl in the next room, and I was condemning him to die.

But I could only save one.

And I hated myself for it.

The of the day was a blur, Katniss promised to wear the pin and somehow I had made it home and to my room before I dissolved into tears.

Effie whimpered slightly- drawing me from my memories- and burrowed deeper into my shoulder, I closed my eyes sadly and hummed lightly under my breath, hoping the light tune would sooth her. It didn’t, but I kept at it anyway if only to distract myself.  

Over the top of Effie's head I clapped eyes on Prim bent over checking on her patient, her face ashen and her eyes swollen and red. I had tried to summon her over to me nearly an hour ago, but she had ignored me, as if she were in a trance. The only thing that kept her from slipping fully into shock was her patient, dependent upon her for care. Hell she had every right to be in shock she had just watched her sister blow up the arena. Terrified and sobbing on the floor of the hospital it was by the skin of her teeth that Uncle Gunner had been able to extract her and meet the hovercraft in time,and Peeta had been nowhere to be found. All we could do was hope he had joined the rebels from 13 (because if he wasn't Katniss was going to lay their pretty little bunker to ruin) but without Prim I had my doubts he would leave the capital. I hope I was wrong. I sighed. Prim had every damn right to be terrified. I was terrified.

Prim had been summoned to the Capital a nearly six months after I arrived. I had not been happy to see her. She was just as happy to be seen. Arriving the night before the quarter quell began and denied access to her sister, Prim had been rightly terrified. She had not been trained in combat or self-defense as I had been by my Aunt and cousin upon arrival, and was easy pickings for Snow and any capitalite.

The issued excuse was she was to be trained as a doctor, upon her sisters request, and if their beloved Victor asked of them the Capital would see it done. Of course Katniss had asked nothing of the sort, nor wanted Prim anywhere near the Capital but the citizens had eaten it up, my father could not supersede an order from the president so Mrs. Everdeen had no choice but to let her go.

Peeta was informed the next morning and had made an unholy racket, laying waste to nearly half of the penthouse before he was restrained by Thorburn Ballyregan a co- mentor (along with Annie Cresta) from District Four. Effie had insisted upon young Prim living with her brother-in-law as she need a familiar friendly face, and since mother and I was living with my extended family we weren't an option. Snow had shown no inclination to deny the woman and had acquiesced. Two birds, one nest, oh look a big stone.

Though nothing seemed to be going as the president planned. His arena lie in ruins and if district 13 was worth a damn the girl on fire was far out of reach.

The again it seemed if anything the rebels in their steel bunker near the wilds were good at it was screwing up. Or trying to cram such intricate planning into only six months time. It was insanity. Granted their hand had been forced, but their entire plan rested on keeping a select few victors alive in the arena, until 13 could extricate them. One small screw up and the whole damn plan was shot to hell. I'll admit I'm no great shakes at strategy but their had to be a better way. One that didn't leave so many exposed. The order had only become aware of 13’s plot two days before the games were about to commence, and we were left scrambling to cover the angles forgotten,ignored, or left for dead. Some allies Haymitch had there.

Prim was currently tending too one such lose end.

Beaten within an inch of his life Cinna’s mocha skin was more black and blue than anything else. Two of the orders spies within the peacekeepers had barely arrived in time. Smuggling him to the Nairn-my cousins- home had been risky. Under the cover of darkness he was smuggled through the tunnels to our home. From there he was taken into a much more elaborate-larger- bunker, that housed training quarters, a library similar to ours back in twelve, and a small med-bay. Aunt Inala, my cousin Alexia, and Dr. Harn-a member of the council- spent the better part of a day tending to the man my friend loved so dearly. Four days later and he had still not regained consciousness.

Effie's tears had abated, whether he had calmed or she had fallen asleep I wasn't sure, but I was leaning heavily toward the latter.

Hushed voice drew my attention to the front of the craft-hunched over, a monitor muttering to Thorburn (who stood beside her) - her round freckled face pulled into a mask of cold impassiveness- was my cousin Alexia (well third cousin actually).

Flaming red hair pulled into a messy bun, an automatic rifle rested in a white knuckled grip; gleaming silver ring daggers peaked out from the pockets of her bulletproof vest and a belt slung low across her hips- she no longer resembled the innocent woman that had grown up among the capital drones for over a decade. Ferreting out secrets and plotting behind the guise of her baby-faced innocence and congenial smiles. No one had ever suspected the Nairn family from District 3 as rebels. Not with the advancements ‘Aunt’ Inala made in technological medicine or ‘Uncle’ Gunner in security.

Aunt Inala’s call from the cockpit drew Alexia up to her full –diminutive- height and striding to the nose of the hovercraft, the automatic door sliding shut behind her. I bit my lip, both curious and terrified as to what was taking part behind the steel door.

Eight months ago I would have wanted desperately to be in the cockpit, as I sat home in twelve starved for knowledge. Then everything changed. Two days after Katniss and Peeta’s historic win District 12 had was still in fits of jubilation. Dancing and laughing, children playing tag through town. Crowds of dust coated men and women, fresh from the mines, crowded into the town square watching Caesar Flickerman recap the journey of District 12’s tributes from reaping to love.

For once, it seemed, the odds had gone in favor if the lowly coal mining district. Seam and townie congregated out side shops talking through the highs and extreme lows that had fallen upon their young star-crossed lovers. Mr. Mellark in a fit of ecstasy had thrown open the back door to the bakery and was bestowing gifts of bread-still hot from the oven- to any that passed by. His wife, upon looking out the window and finding a crowd of bronze skin and dark hair outside her back door receiving good for which they had no money to pay for had flown into a rage. Even the guaranteed safe return of her youngest son had done nothing to improve her sour disposition.

Arriving at the door with another fresh rack of bread, Barley -Peeta's eldest brother- poked his head out the door and screamed for his mother to jump up a cows ass. The crowd had roared with laughter and Mrs. Mellark had retreated from the window livid, red faced and mortified. I watched from my porch grinning, my book seated on the swing beside me –forgotten- as I watched the slew of happy faces. A rare sight indeed for our district. Even surly Gale, who loathed the very sight of me, had waved happily at me as he passed by, his cheering baby sister perched atop his shoulders. My stomach fluttered and a blush rose to my cheeks- I had an embarrassing crush on a Gale Hawthorne for nearly a year,like every girl in 12- as I waved back.

So enthralled I didn't notice an magenta haired reporter approaching me until he stepped onto my porch. Clasped in the hand -not clutching his notebook -was a bouquet of beautiful flowers. A dozen snowy white roses surrounding one dainty red button, that had once upon a time been called a poppy.

It was now official, no longer a dream. Mother and I were being summoned.

War was coming. It was now as inevitable as changing of seasons. The flames of rebellion had been fanned, and would soon surge throughout the districts. Wild and untamable. A single red blossom told me it was time. Time to take my place among myth and legend. My name is Madge Undersee and I am the kindling that will ignite the girl on fire into a raging inferno.


End file.
